Watch Me Dance
by naomishere
Summary: A dancer doesn't dance with just her body. She dances with her soul. What can't be explained in words, can in a dance. When Elizabeth Lewis meets a certain man, there is no way to tell in words what she feels. Will the dance do enough? WatsonXOC
1. Chapter 1

February 1830, London

A single girl was standing on the stage. Her feet were hurting, but she went on. Piqué, piqué, tombé, pas de bouré…

'I need you to be more opened up, sweetheart,' a voice said from the audience. 'Do it again.'

The girl sighed and walked back to the corner to do the whole dance again. When she was done, she looked hopeful to the dark audience.

'Better. Still not good enough,' her ballet-master said. 'Take a break, but be back in ten minutes.'

She didn't go off stage. She sat down and loosened the strings of her pointes. She gave her feet a look: They were red and a little swollen, but not worse than normally.

One of her fellow dancers ran up to her and gave her some water.

'You're okay?' he asked.

'I'm fine,' she said. 'A little dizzy, maybe, but fine.'

He looked at her, a little worried. 'Are you sure? You don't look fine. Maybe you should stop. I'll ask monsieur Givant if-'

'I said I'm fine, Michael, really,' she interrupted him. 'I should go on.'

She got up and tightened her pointes. 'I'm ready, monsieur,' she said, walking to her place.

'Let's start then,' she heard him say. 'In five, six, seven, eight…'

The music started to play and she started to dance. But it didn't feel good. She was a little light-headed, and her legs weren't able to do what she wanted them to do. But she went on.

The hardest part: a assamblé, ending en pointe. She tried not to look down when she landed, but if she had, she'd seen it coming. Her ankle wasn't able to hold her weight anyomore, so it twisted, and she fell. Almost immediately a few friends of hers ran up the stage.

'You're okay?' one of them asked.

'That didn't look good,' another said.

She slowly took her pointe off, and looked at her ankle.

'It's not that bad,' she said. The girls looked at her in shock.

'Are you kidding me?' Alexandra, one of the girls, said. 'It looks terrible! We have to get you to the doctor's.'

She didn't complain. As soon as the doctor had told her everything was fine, the girls would leave her alone.

Ten minutes later she sat in the doctor's office. Michael had insisted on carrying her, so she wouldn't have to force her ankle. Now, surrounded by girls in short ballet dresses, she made quite an appearance. A few of the older ladies in the room looked at her in disgust, but she didn't mind.

'Elizabeth Lewis?'

She looked up when she heard her name. 'Yes?' she said, not knowing who'd spoken.

A man, obviously a doctor, walked up to her. He was young, tall and handsome, not like any other doctor she'd ever seen before.

'I'm Dr. Watson,' he said. 'I heard something went wrong while dancing?'

Elizabeth sighed. 'Nothing's wrong,' she said. 'It happens all the time. It barely hurts.'

'Then why are you here?' the doctor asked, surprised.

Elizabeth lowered her voice. 'It's the others. They always think something's wrong. Could you please tell them I'm okay, doctor?' She gave him a hopeful smile.

The doctor chuckled. 'I'm afraid I'll have to take a look at it first, miss,' he said. 'I'm sorry.'

Half an hour later Elizabeth stood on the street. The doctor had checked everything. Unfortunately, there were some things wrong. He'd given her the advice to rest a few weeks; she'd begged him to say she could dance.

Now, walking home, she tried to come up with things she could do now she didn't have to work. Her father would probably start complaining about her not moving out again.

Then it hit her. She could move out, find herself a new home. It couldn't be that hard, could it?

With a smile on her face and some fresh ideas she got home.


	2. Chapter 2

March 1830, London

Elizabeth was standing in front of a house in London . She checked the address one more time. 221B Baker Street. From what she'd heard, her father's friend wasn't the type of guy to live in a house llike this. But what did she know?

After she'd told her father she'd move out, he'd helped her look for a house. Unfortunately, it wasn't the right time, so there wasn't a single house that fitted her budget. That's when her fater decided to ask a friend. He'd told her father she could stay for as log as she wanted, and that he'd be delighted to have some female company; her father had called him crazy.

Nervous, she knocked. For a little while, nothing happened. Then a lady, older than her, opened the door and smiled.

'You must be Miss Lewis,' the lady said. 'I'm Mrs. Hudson. Come in.'

Elizabeth lifted her luggage from the pavement and followed Mrs. Hudson in. When they reached the hall, Mrs. Hudson told her to wait, so she could get "Mister" to meet her.

Elizabeth looked around. The hall was perfectly tidied and clean, which was probably Mrs. Hudson's work. A bouquet of roses was standing on the table. Elizabeth walked towards them; they smelled delicious.

'A light walk, a slim figure and high heels while having walked at least two miles. You're a dancer.'

Elizabeth quickly turned around and looked at the man standing halfway down the stairs.

'A selfish attitude, dirty clothes and a look on the face that isn't very close to intelligent,' she said. 'The average man.'

'Not to fond on men, I see,' the man said, walking down the last few steps.

'Not to fond on selfish men, more likely,' she said, walking towards him. 'Elizabeth Lewis.' She offered him her hand.

'Sherlock Holmes.' He shook it firmly.

'So what exactly makes you think I'm selfish, miss Lewis? It's obviously not the fact that I let you sleep in my house,' Holmes said.

Elizabeth shook her head. 'Not quite, no,' she answered his question. 'The fact that you don't seem to care about what others think, do or say. You're clothes say you think you're too good to dress properly in front of guests, you're greeting says you think you're too good for me, and the way your dog is lying there in the corner tells me you don't care about him either.'

Holmes looked at the dog and sighed. 'He doesn't mind.'

'Of course not.' Elizabeth smiled gently. 'So you're living here on your own?' she asked.

'I'm afraid not. My friend and I share the rent,' Holmes answered. 'Maybe I should introduce him to you.' He walked back to the stairs. 'Watson!' he yelled. 'Could you get down, please?'

Elizabeth was surprised. He surely couldn't mean…

'What is it Holmes? Another useless invention? Something that will finally stop those loud gun shots?' She looked up to find Dr. Watson staring at her.

'I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you, my dear Watson,' Holmes said. 'Somehow my last invention doesn't seem to be working.'

'No surprise to me,' the doctor whispered.

Elizabeth chuckled, and Holmes looked at her like he almost forgot she was there.

'Oh yes,' he mumbled. 'Watson, this here is our new roommate, miss Elizabeth Lewis.'

Dr. Watson walked towards her and kissed her hand gently. 'I think we met.

Elizabeth smiled. 'I'm sure we did.' She looked at him. His piercing blue eyes were twinkling, and she couldn't help but blush. He seemed to notice and he quickly looked away.

'Shall I help you with your luggage?' he offered. 'Your room is on the second floor.'

'Well, thank you, doctor,' Elizabeth said. Dr. Watson picked up her suitcases and started carrying them upstairs.

'There's really no reason to call me doctor, miss,' he said. 'Call me John, or just Watson.'

Elizabeth smiled. 'Then there's no need to call me "miss" either,' she said. 'You can call me Elizabeth, or just Lewis.'

Watson chuckled. 'Well, Elizabeth, you're room's here.' He pointed to the door at the very end of the corridor. 'I hope you like it.'

'I'm sure I will. Thanks for the help,' Elizabeth said.

'It's my pleasure.'

Elizabeth laid on the bed in her new room. There wasn't much furniture: There was a bed, a small table, a chair and a small cupboard for her clothes. But it was good enough for her. It felt great to be away from home, although she already missed her dad.

After she'd put everything away, she'd had dinner with Watson and Holmes. They both seemed very nice, especially Watson. He'd actually seemed interested in her, something she couldn't say of Holmes.

She sighed. She was tired, though she hadn't even danced. She closed her eyes, and was far away in a minute.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi everyone! I am so sorry it took me so long. I was so busy was school and stuff, that I totally forgot about the story! **

**As you can see, my chapters are really, really short, but I just can't seem to write longer ones****. Quite annoying, actually.**

**Thanks for the reviews, but I'd love to have some more with a few tips or ideas of how to go further**

**One more thing: Have fun reading!**

**Lots of love, Naomi **

April 1890, London

She'd been living at Baker Street for a month now an she already felt at home. She'd gotten used to the sound that the leaves of the three in the backyard make when it was a stormy night, the smell of the delicious bacon that Mrs. Hudson bought at the nearby butcher to cook just for her, and even to the little strolls Holmes made through the house at night.

So when she woke up to find the sun shining through her window in a bright way she hadn't seen in days, a huge smile immediately appeared on her face. She stepped out of her bed, put on one of her brightest dresses – the one that fit her mood the best, and quickly combed her hair.

She walked down the stairs humming one of her favourite songs, just to find Watson in almost the same mood as she was. He was wearing his favourite suit, she noticed, and was reading the newspaper. When he saw her, he smiled, which, surprisingly, made her blush.

'You look happy,' he stated.

'Don't I always?' she responded.

'You do indeed, but-' he paused there for a moment. '-you're happier than usual.'

'What makes you say that, doctor?' she asked. She loved calling him "doctor". It seemed to annoy him a little, and she liked the way he looked when he was confused.

'I've seen you dancing down the stairs for…well, every single day since you came here, actually. But I've never heard you hum a song. Now I wonder, what makes this day even more special than others, if I may ask?'

Elizabeth was about to answer that it was him that did so, but quickly came up with something else.

'Let's just say that a certain sunbeam brightened up my day,' she said.

The smell of fresh coffee made her go check the kitchen, were she found a few cups of coffee ready for her. She picked one up and went back to the living room. Watson had put the newspaper away, and now held two tiny little pieces of paper in his hand.

'What's that?' she asked, when she sat down.

'Something that will brighten up your day even more,' Watson answered, waving the papers.

Elizabeth raised one eyebrow. 'They're tickets to the opera.'

'They are indeed,' Watson said. 'And I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?'

Elizabeth looked up in surprise. This would've probably been the last thing she'd expected if she hadn't seen this tickets laying around a few days ago. She'd thought he wanted to take Holmes out of the house for once, but, of course, the thought of him taking her with him had come up and hadn't left her mind since.

'I-I'd love to,' Elizabeth stammered. Then she noticed the date on the tickets. 'Wait, it's today?'

'It is,' Watson said. A worried look appeared on his face. 'That's not a problem, I hope?'

Elizabeth shook her head.

'No, of course not,' she said. 'It's just that I've got practice until 6 o'clock.'

'I could pick you up from there, if you want me too,' Watson suggested.

'That would be great. '

It was 5.00 PM when training was finished. They were surprisingly early today, but Elizabeth didn't mind at all. She was way too excited. She walked back to the dressing room, and quickly got her dress out of her little locker. It was dark blue, with some little diamonds sewed on it. It was her favourite dress, and she'd thought this would be the perfect opportunity to wear it.

She quickly slid into the dress. After that, she put on some jewellery and shoes, and tried to make her hair look a little more acceptable. She turned around in front of the mirror, and stated that she looked ok. She put her coat on, got her bag and walked out of the building.

Watson was already there. At the sight of him her knees started to weaken, but she quickly recovered and walked towards him.

'You're early,' she said, noticing the time on a nearby clock. It was 5.30 PM.

'My last patient turned out to have no physical problems whatsoever. I send him to a psychiatric and got off early,' he said. 'You seem to be early too.'

'Well, it happens,' she said with a smile.

He smiled too and held his arm out.

'Shall we?'


	4. Note

As you might have noticed, I have not been updating this story for a really, really long time.  
I guess I just lost inspiration, and wasn't able to find time to update it.

Now, I've reread it, and I'm really just laughing at how poorly it is writtenxD

So, I'm gonna try to rewrite everything, from the beginning, and I hope to update very soon.

Thanks for your support!

Lots of Love, Naomi 


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